


To Serve, Not Protect

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Transformers: Rescue Bots, Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Evil, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Best Friends, Betrayal, Canon Blending, Continuity What Continuity, Culture Shock, Deadly Premonition, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreams vs. Reality, Execution, Explanations, Good and Evil, Medical Experimentation, Non-Consensual Touching, Past Character Death, Personality Swap, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Prophetic Dreams, Self-Doubt, Spooky, Storms, Surprises, Symbionts, Temporary Amnesia, Threats of Violence, Tornadoes, Undermining, ominous ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 15:29:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4751510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chase apparently has "amnesia", but the people who mislead him are the ones he never would have suspected.</p><p>
  <em>How have they been converted? Where are the humans? Why are they turning against me?!</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Serve, Not Protect

**Author's Note:**

> "J’j’va" - Cybertronian, "I don't understand"

_How have they been converted? Where are the humans? Why are they turning against me?!_

This stream of questions replayed constantly in the forefront of Chase’s processor as he backed away from the trio of Bots surrounding him, optics flicking back and forth to each of their faces. They seemed so familiar and yet bore far more scars than he remembered. Though emotions weren’t nearly as high a priority to him as they were to others, at the moment he was experiencing his own form of great fear: something cold that clamped onto his spark, harsher than any words could describe or try to replicate.

His backstrut hit one of City Hall’s pillars and Chase finally tried to speak, though words were resistant.

“Boulder. What has happened to you?”

Boulder growled wordlessly, eyeing him with such coldness in his _crimson_ gaze that Chase cringed slightly, seeking out Blades instead. He was always ready to help, though his methods were sometimes questionable. He, however, was wearing an even uglier expression than Boulder. To Chase’s shock, Blades’ rotors abruptly disconnected, folding and separating into smaller, compact flying symbionts that covered any possible exits Chase might have considered.

Then there was one.

“Heatwave?” Chase glanced imploringly toward his leader and closest friend, who looked on impassively as Blades’ razor-sharp symbionts spun, blurring as they drew closer to embedding into Chase’ frame.

 **::J’j’va!::** he cried at last, desperate to get through to them. If anything could make the Bots he knew pause, it was speaking in their home Tongue. He knew how they missed Cybertron, thanks to countless movies Blades watched about aliens losing their way; thanks to many scientific discoveries Boulder made which he said reminded him of his time at the Academy; thanks to late night encounters with Heatwave where they cracked open the garage doors and peered longingly up at the stars together.

Thanks to Primus and his mercy, Cybertronian did make them hesitate for a few nanokliks. He had to use those to his advantage. Chase spoke in a rush: “Heatwave, I’m quite confused. Where is the Burns family? And, ah, why are you surrounding me with what is beginning to look quite a bit like malicious intent?”

For the first time, one of his teammates spoke to him, but there was no reassurance in his voice. “How did you come back here? We thought you died in that tornado, Chase,” Heatwave spat.

“Tornado?” Chase echoed dumbly.

Heatwave’s frown deepened and with a minute nod he ordered, “Boulder.”

Chase stiffened as Boulder waved away the symbionts and approached, wordlessly clamping a hand onto the back of his neck and pressing into his sensory array. Next there was light in his optics, piercing them, invading thought and reason, and just when his limbs were beginning to lose feeling and he was starting to black out, Chase was released.

“He doesn’t have any memory of the twister,” Boulder announced with a sneer unbefitting to his face. “He’s got _amnesia_.”

“We received orders from Optimus Prime,” Heatwave explained, folding his arms and sweeping Chase up in a contemptuous gaze. “To create a windstorm with the power to destroy the miserable flesh creatures on this island.”

“Doctor Greene’s weather machine really does come in handy,” Boulder remarked cheerfully.

Chase’s optics widened and he pressed a bit closer to the City Hall pillar, stammering, “Optimus Prime would never—He sent us to _serve_ and _protect_ the humans—”

Blades laughed at that, ignoring the distasteful glance Heatwave sent him, and mocked, “You must be thinking of a different Prime, Chase. Optimus is the greatest, most ruthless of us all.”

“The damage to his processor must be more extensive than we believe,” Boulder muttered.

“There is no damage to my systems!” Chase argued. “I simply _cannot_ believe that Optimus, that _you_ would turn against everything we stand for!”

“That’s rich, coming from the most traitorous second-in-command since Ultra Magnus!” Heatwave snarled.

Chase couldn’t help it—he visibly shuddered under the weight of those words. “What? I have been nothing but faithful to you since we’ve known each other!”

Another laugh from Blades, icier than before, if it was possible. “We all saw it. You planned to send Heatwave to his death in the tornado! Frankly it was miraculous that Heatwave acted first.”

“And now,” Heatwave started with a grim smile, “I get to do it again!”

Before Chase could even tense to react, the leader of Sigma-17 sprang, seizing his shoulders in a crushing grip.

“Please, release me!” Chase cried as he was lifted off his feet. He pedaled the air in dismay. “This isn’t you, it can’t be you!”

“It’s me, Chase,” Heatwave disagreed savagely, shaking him so violently that he shuttered his optics. “It’s just me, it’s _just me_ … _Are you okay?_ ”

Somehow that sounded more familiar. Chase finally dared to open his optics and found himself in a darkened room, pressed against an ambiguous wall with his hands clamped around someone else’s. His optics moved hesitantly upward and locked with Heatwave’s.

His friend’s gaze was blue, not red.

Sighing, Heatwave began trying to tug his hands away, though Chase’s grip was locked and made it futile. “It’s rare that you have nightmares, Chase. Are you okay?”

Chase swallowed, trying not to choke. “I…am,” he lied croakily. “Are you?”

“Fine,” Heatwave responded, looking puzzled for a few kliks before realization dawned. “Oh. Was I in your dream?”

“No. In my dream, you were…gone,” Chase explained, forcing his vocals to even out. “All of you.”

“Well, it’s not real,” Heatwave assured him, nodding toward their two fellow Bots, still recharging.

“No, of course not,” Chase agreed apprehensively, still trying to shake off the sensation of Heatwave seizing him with…malicious intent. With a shaky ex-vent, he forced himself to relax his hands, loosing Heatwave.

His team leader started to turn away, before thinking better of it and sinking down next to Chase. “I’m staying with you,” he announced.

Chase communicated his thanks with a brief nod. Heatwave returned the gesture and sought out his second-in-command’s shoulder, leaving his hand there. Chase stared unblinkingly at him, rememorizing the details of his face and filling in the gaps with the mental image he trusted where there were shadows.

_In another universe, on another Earth, on another island known as Griffin Rock, Heatwave held tightly to Chase’s shoulder, his second-in-command staring at him, wide optics unblinking as the storm they had caused raged over the island. Chase’s expression didn’t even change as the tornado began pulling his feet away from the roof on which they were standing. The roof where Chase had just tried to kill him._

_The fatal funnel drew closer. Heatwave opened his hand_.


End file.
